


Another kind of

by tahanrien



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cynicism, Dark, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Post-Canon, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 03:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17035763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahanrien/pseuds/tahanrien
Summary: Under Pagan Min, at least there was some kind of order.





	Another kind of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piinutbutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/gifts).



> Thank you, P., for staying with me through the many changes.

Even after a few years, the girl had never really looked old enough to be working on the sets of one of Sharma’s shoots, but Sharma had never bothered to find out her age, nor her name. She had never cared, too caught up in the money and the fame that had come with filming with Riti Nin Riti Kapoor. The girl was only another helping hand, wiping away Riti Nin Riti’s come from Sharma’s boobs.

When Riti Nin Riti had died and Sharma had gotten out of the business, the girl had vanished too, sold off into a marriage or a temple, not that there was much difference, in Sharma’s opinion. Sharma had been too caught up in her own grief and the sudden loss of income to care about another child marriage and she had forgotten about the girl until today.

Maybe it was the fact that it was Sharma now, wiping a spill of the come off the surfaces off the desk. The Royal Guard - Sharma knew his face from seeing him around, but not his name - had almost been done when she had found them in her office. Him with a young woman, a pretty girl barely half his age, squealing and struggling in either pain or pleasure beneath him. He had her bent over the table, switching between her cunt and her ass, hips snapping forward without a rhythm; just force, and a squelching sound each time they came together.

The girl had looked at Sharma with empty eyes when she could, head tilted sideways. The room smelled like sweat and sex.

Once upon a time, Sharma would have done something.

But these times were over.

“Don’t get your come on the videotapes,” Sharma warned the Royal Guard with a laugh before she closed the door again. “They are worth more than you can imagine.”

When she came back later, the Royal Guard and the girl were gone. There was come all over the desk and some on the tapes that she still displayed there, and there were new scratch marks on the surface. Sharma grimaced and set herself to cleaning. Not like she had anyone else to do this for her. Her back pained her when she was awake too long but acknowledging it would mean that she was getting old. And Riti Nin Riti had always told her that if she felt young, she would never age.

Sharma almost wished for the past to return. At least there had been some kind of order. 

But wherever Pagan Min was now, if he was dead or alive, whoever was in power now… they sure as fuck did not care anymore.

Sharma had almost finished by the time the night shift started. She had, over the years, gotten used to the chaotic hustle of the Golden Path rebels and she found that the Royal Guards were not much different, only that they lacked the respect that Sharma’s age had given her among the rebels. Which is why she paused when she heard the knock on the door. The Royal Guards did not knock.

Sharma grabbed her gun, lightly, that she had hidden under the desk. It was not that much to protect herself, but rather to end it before it got too ugly. She had been living in Kyrat all her life, after all.

The door opened, and Sharma held her breathe. Her office and bedroom, the little place she had got to keep when the straggling Royal Guard had taken over the place, was dimly lit and Sharma hoped she had the surprise on her side.

It was a man, familiar statue and for a moment, she thought that she looked at Riti Nin Riti - the curve of his shoulders, the legs, the bulge of his cock visible in even the thickest pants. Sharma’s breath hitched.

Then the man stepped forward, into the light.

Sharma let go of the gun, keeping it under the desk.

“Ah, you came back. Ajay,” Sharma greeted him. She made herself step forward: At least this dance was a familiar one, even if the man on the other side of the room seemed nothing like the man that had entered her house for the first time all these months ago. As she came closer, she studied him: His skin looked more ashen then before, his eyes dull - he almost reminded her of the look on the girl’s face when the Royal Guard had finally come inside of her, empty and resigned.

Sharma veered close and grabbed his hand. She kissed it and enjoyed his strong fingers. Even they reminded her of Riti Nin Riti. He too had had long fingers, thick enough that they nicely stretched her before and often after each fuck.

“I have a mission close by,” Ajay said quietly, he always spoke quietly, “it should not take any more than two, three days. I’ll stay here. Just the normal routine.”

When he looked at her, his gaze was searching.

Sharma nodded. “It will be my pleasure to have you, of course.”

He just nodded and turned around, then paused. 

“Is everything alright here?” he asked and for a moment, he was that Ajay from before again: The Ajay that even with that slim connection through his parents, still worried for the Kyrati people. 

Sharma made herself smile and lean against her desk, going through the motions of that slow seduction she had started months ago with Ajay. “Of course,” she told him, “even better, now that you are here.”

Ajay nodded again and glanced at her, gaze unreadable, and then he left.

Sharma looked after him. She used to feel safe knowing that Ajay, the Ajay Ghale, was nearby. She did not feel like that anymore.

***

When Ajay came back into Banapur the next afternoon, Sharma heard it not from him, but from the way everyone got quiet and tense; there was a forced sincerity to every interaction. Even though technically they were now on the same side, even though technically everyone was now on the same side, the Royal Guard still seemed distanced from Ajay Ghale and who could blame them, with how many of them Ajay had killed.

Sharma was at her desk all day, then she went out to get some of the food that was being delivered. She was one of the last ones - the Royal Guards came first, then their families, then her, then the rest of Banapur. 

When she came back, the door to her office was slightly open. Sharma still went inside and found Ajay leaning against her desk. Sharma smiled at him and put the food down - it was not much, not by any standard, but the ones that had been in line behind her got even less.

The desk was in the same state as it had been before, but Sharma had not survived Kyrat without a keen eye. The stack of her papers on the side was slightly different from before, moved barely a centimeter but enough that she could see it. She had no doubt that Ajay had gone through it. 

He would find nothing.

“Can I help you?” she asked Ajay. She stepped closer until she stood close enough to smell him - the smell of gunpowder and fire had clung to him before when Ajay had fought for the Golden Path, and it still clung to him now. Sharma had heard of this mission of his in the midday already: How he had hunted down some rhinos that were making life difficult for the Royal Guard and then he had killed some smugglers that were trying to ferry off stolen good.

If one looked at the sky at midday, a huge cloud of smoke was to be seen over the lake and the smell of burning human flesh had drafted over Banapur up to the mountain.

Sharma wasn’t too sorry - she had told the smugglers to be quieter about it, but one of the men had told her about his five starving children further in the north. That, too, was different from before: Not the children and the pregnant wife that would starve now, no. But the way the Army went after them. Pagan Min had cared about little in the last days of his reign except for the Golden Path and Ajay Ghale. Now, smugglers were criminals to be hunted and to be made an example of.

Sharma looked up at Ajay and traced her hand along his arm. Pressing in just a bit, she could feel the strong muscles of his upper arms under the jacket. She stroked his arm, up and down and saw Ajay’s pupils dilate, just a bit. The door was open behind her and she should have closed it, but this could be helpful: Some kind of respect earned from the fact that Ajay Ghale let her get this close.

His jacket was still in good condition, which was a surprise, but maybe he had someone good cleaning it. She herself had washed blood out of clothing too often to not know that it often left traces, that you never really got clean again, and she wondered if she was stroking a patch that had been soaked with Pagan Min’s blood.

Her own cunt throbbed at the thought.

Ajay moved then and pointed to one of her posters then and she did not need to look to see it was an old print-out of a fashion show - Sharma had been the model, dressed in a white bear fur cloak, with nothing underneath.

“You like it?” Sharma asked and laughed. “I prefer the more creative form of media, of course, but a good picture can get you going too. Especially with the more avant-garde designs like from-- like this.”

Ajay shrugged.

“You are still in contact with Mumu Chiffon?” Ajay asked then, a shock like emptying a bucket of fresh mountain water right over her head. “Looks like his design.”

“Of course not,” Sharma said, “As far as I know, he left Kyrat a few months ago? It’s always sad to see an icon leave behind his country, of course. Why are you asking?”

Ajay shrugged again. His gaze went back to her. “Just checking. He never finished my outfit,” he explained but he did not sound too sad about the fact. He pushed away from the desk and from her and strode back to the open door. “See you later; I should get back.”

The tone of his voice had not changed at all. He had never been the most expressive, but Sharma even missed that bit of spice of his character. The Golden Path, and whoever was in power now… they had made him lose it.

“Have fun,” Sharma said. With shaky fingers, she lit herself a cigarette and watched him walk through Banapur. The Royal Guard avoided him and ducked their heads down when he passed, and she would have found it funny, but there was nothing funny about this anymore.

Ajay did not come back when the afternoon sun had vanished, and the evening was there. Sharma finished up the books she had been keeping for the Royal Guard and edited some clips. Ever since the change in power, porn was on the rise again. Sharma did not enjoy it: This used to be her passion, her thing, but the Royal Guards and the Army, they were simple in their requests and this was but another thing to keep the Kyrati armed forces appeased: Video after video of the same things she had already seen repeatedly. 

Video after video of material, of rape and of murder, of the camera focused on the goriest details until it was all just one giant horrific video in Sharma’s mind, none of the artistic value she had always strived to include in her videos. None of the narrative, none of the humor. Propaganda, but a different kind.

Just mindless scenes, musings that spoke to the people of Kyrat, to the soldiers. Sharma used to find the Golden Path dogmatic, but this was no different, really. And she was the one creating this.

In the beginning, Rabi Ray Rana had narrated some things, at least another professional Sharma worked with. But after he had left for the border, Sharma hadn’t heard from him again.

Like every day, after her work was done, Sharma locked her door twice and fell asleep with the gun under her pillow.

That didn’t help her, though, when she awoke in the middle of the night from the commotion outside. There seemed to be drunken shouting, then someone firing their gun into the sky. More shouts, elated and loud. Sharma watched the light come in from the windows, then there was a loud thud against her door.

Sharma stayed in her bed, under her covers, breathing in and out carefully. She could hear their voices.

“--in there--”

Another one chimed in, heavy with the Cantonese accent of the Royal Guard. “Don’t wanna wait-- fuck--”

Sharma reached for her gun when the door was kicked open and three or more of the Royal Guards came in. It was too dark for Sharma to see their faces. “She’s too old,” one of the Royal Guards said.

“Then get the younger ones,” another said. “The ones with some experience are the best. Did you see that-- that one--?”

“Yeah, yeah, with her cunt split open--”

Sharma had six shots before she needed to reload: Enough to miss at least once and still manage to take the Royal Guard that was in the room out with her. She needed to wait until they were close enough, especially with that little light. She could smell the alcohol on them as they stumbled closer. Just one step more, one step--

They stopped. After a quiet shuffle and an exchange of words, too low for Sharma to hear, they left, one after another, through the door. Sharma stayed alert and clutched the gun under the pillow. She did not know if she could let it go.

Only when her room was quiet again, did Sharma look at the door. There was still one man there, looking inside. For one single moment, with her mind still dizzy from the scare, it was Riti Nin Riti at the door, checking in on her, like he sometimes had done after a particularly heavy scene. 

If anyone asked, Sharma would have denied to ever have been in love with him - she would have laughed at that person. But even now she could not deny that Riti Nin Riti had taken a part of her away with him when he had died.

The man closed the door as well as he could behind him. The room was empty again and only the broken door told of what happened.

Sharma forced herself to sleep but she slept fitfully and dreamt of the Royal Guards’ hands all over her. She dreamt that they dragged her out of bed, over the floor, and took her there like they were nothing more than dogs. Like they did with so many of the young man and woman alike. Like they had done with her when they had first gotten to Banapur.

“The country is lost, Sharma,” Mumu had said to her, on one of their drunken nights together. Before he had left. “Fucked beyond belief.” It was rare that he was that crude, but it was not like he was wrong. “I thought he would be fierce enough to change it, but even Ajay Ghale is just one man in the end.”

***

Ever since Pagan Min was gone, there had been no order anymore. It was like in one moment to the next, everything had collapsed. But Sharma knew that it had been a process: First, they had heard of other places being run over by the Royal Army and then came the Guard. Then they had heard that they lacked the order from before, raping and pillaging, more like bandits than the army they had been once. Soon, word had gotten around that there had been a change in leadership, but by then, that had been obvious.

She wondered how Ajay Ghale fit into this.

As a kingmaker, maybe.

Sharma watched him when he came back in the late afternoon. She had not seen him in the morning and when he came in, Sharma had already been drinking. Her ass was still red from where she had been slapped in the morning when outside, Royal Guards groping at ass and her boobs and trying to lift her dress.

Sharma had never dressed any differently - she was still fit and the same dresses she had worn for the more intricate shoots with Riti Nin Riti were still sitting nicely around her body. She refused to stop what made up such a big part of her, even if the other women commented on this: “Wear something different, Sharma, please,” they asked her, bellies heavy and round. At least that could not happen to Sharma anymore. “They already talk about you.”

But they had always talked about Sharma, no matter what she did, no matter what she wore, no matter who was in power. 

Sharma drank some more raksi and licked her lips when Ajay looked over to her. He looked away, looked again. A shiver ran down Sharma’s spine.

When he went to the hut he was sleeping in, Sharma stood up and walked over. With her mind set on that hut, she could ignore the village - the quiet where Banapur had once been lively, the sobs or screams, the begging, but worst of all, the humiliation of hearing the rough voices of the Royal Guard, how they talked, how they looked, how they touched. They never left. They had never received another order and now they were just here and there was no end in sight.

Ajay’s hut was small, way smaller than the place Sharma had, way smaller than any place the Royal Guard had taken over. But he was used to sleeping in the wild, Sharma guessed, and from what she heard, he was rarely in the palace that Pagan Min used to reside in. There was an open backpack to the side, a few knives and a change of clothes. Nothing more.

Ajay was waiting for her.

She pressed her finger to his lips before he could say something and then she pushed him backward. He went easily, down onto the mattress on the floor and Sharma opened his pants with ease. He was barely half hard, but she licked at his cock, little kitten licks against the shaft and broad strokes of the flat of her tongue against the head. Her hands went up to his stomach, pressing against the hard muscles like in a massage.

This was new, exciting and it made Sharma’s heart race.

Ajay’s body was littered with scars, little nicks to some that covered half his torso. He smelled of smoke and this close also of blood, like he had spilled so much that it had soaked into his skin. Sharma took care to press a few kisses against his stomach as well, to dip her tongue into his navel.

Ajay was quiet during and he only let out little huffs when Sharma pulled her slip down her legs and climbed onto him. He was stable underneath her, grounding like Riti Nin Riti had been. Sharma moved her hips slowly, just like the way Riti Nin Riti had liked it, holding herself up with her hands on his abs. Ajay’s cock slipped inside, just a bit and then let it rub against her folds. Just the way Riti Nin Riti had liked it, just that tease, just barely there.

Ajay was gentle - he put his hands on her hips, yes, but he did not push her or pull her down.

And Sharma sank down on him soon enough. She moaned at the stretch. He wasn’t the biggest she had ever had but as she had learned with Riti Nin Riti, the size was second to what a man could do with his cock. Sharma rode Ajay until they both were breathing heavily, enough to drown out the rest of Banapur. Enough to drown out the shouts and the screams, enough to make Sharma forget that they were not in front of the camera and that this was not Riti Nin Riti and that this was her life now.

Sharma rode him until he came and then she continued until Ajay’s cock was so soft inside of her that it slipped out. Sharma’s lower body was still hot, begging for something more, but Sharma was used to ignoring this. Because here, he was no different from all the other man Sharma had been with. 

“Are you done with your mission?” she asked him and only when she noticed how rough her voice was, did she remember that they had not even spoken.

“Not yet,” Ajay answered sleepily, watching her with hooded eyes.

He was snoring when she got up to wipe off his come, snoring when she grabbed the knife next to his backpack, snoring when Sharma looked at Ajay and wondered if it would even change anything if she killed him.

Sharma looked at the makeshift door of the hut. She could hear the outside, but it was like she was in a bubble. Nothing could touch her now.

She put the knife down and slept next to Ajay instead, head pillowed on his broad chest.

***

When Sharma woke up, she was alone. A heavy sense of dread sat in her stomach when she walked back to her office in the early morning hours. Her legs were sore.

The sky was bright and clear, as only a Kyrati morning could be. The Himalayas towered majestic in the distance and the faint sound of bells came from somewhere far away. The morning sun threw soft shadows but the light breeze accompanying it made Sharma shiver.

A Royal Guard looked at her when Sharma stumbled over to her office. He made a gesture for fucking, but they left her alone. She found Ajay in her office: All the drawers of her desk were ripped open, papers everywhere. They had taken off the posters of the wall, every single one. Her bed was turned over, bedding slashed open and her gun was gone.

And not only that: Ajay had the picture frame in his hand, the one that showed Sharma and Riti Nin Riti in their prime, still sweaty from a shooting. He had not even broken the frame when he had popped it open. And now he held the passport and the plane ticket that would have taken Sharma out of Kyrat. Away from this hellish place. To where she had agreed to meet up with Mumu Chiffon again.

Ajay did not even look surprised. Sharma watched him and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Ajay looked away first.

Then Ajay, with quick motions, ripped both passport and plane ticket to pieces.

“I will say that I haven’t found anything,” Ajay told her then, eyes on the ground. “I just needed to be sure-- we just needed to be sure that you would not leave. For the morale.”

Sharma wanted to laugh, but then she would have started crying and she would never let one of them see her cry. Never. They could hit her, they could rape her, they could spit on her, humiliate her, they could take everything. But she would not let them take this. 

This was no surprise after all: She knew that she had seen too much. 

Ajay walked to the door. 

“Finished your mission, at least?” Sharma asked him while he was walking past. She could not help the bitter tone in her voice, so she aimed for cheerfulness, but even to her own ears, it sounded fake.

He paused. “I did.”

When he was gone, Sharma walked over to her desk. She stepped over the papers as best as she could, careful not to crush anything important, until she got to the desk. Ajay had put the picture and the frame down carefully. Sharma repaired it in ten seconds, maybe even less, and then, under Riti Nin Riti’s watchful eye, started to clean up.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Piinutbutter - thank you for your prompts. I skipped Sharma’s missions the first playthrough as well, so it was interesting to work more with her character. As you seem to like darker content, I decided to go for a more serious take on the post-Pagan Min Kyrat and the effect this would have on the characters. I hope that you like it. And I hope you have a great Yuletide and I wish you happy holidays :D


End file.
